


i'll be wrapped around your finger

by extranuts



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extranuts/pseuds/extranuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It really does figure that once Eggsy settles down into a comfortable routine with Daisy, he goes and falls in love with her teacher. </p><p>(or: kindergarten AU with lots of schmoopy sibling love, obligatory misunderstandings and a fairly happy ending)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> loosely on this prompt at the kinkmeme:  
>  _I'm really craving parent!eggsy - like eggsy being Daisy's legal guardian and meeting mild mannered kindergarden teacher!harry. give me fluff! domestic fluff!_

"Come on Eggsy, we'll be late!"  
  


Little fluffy-socked feet pad across Eggsy's carpet, scramble onto his bed, and land on the lump of his body huddled under the covers.  
  


"Eggsy, wake up," the feet bounce experimentally on the bottom of the duvet, "Eggsy it's time for school."  
  


"Ackthdsj- not my calves Daisy," Eggsy croaks from his pillow, and then goes silent, because it's six, and they both know that he'd never actually let Daisy be late on her second day of school ever. Eggsy is determined to stay in bed for as long as possible, which is a pity, because Daisy is even more determined to make sure he doesn't.   
  


"Eggsy?" Daisy taps the pillow, "Eggsy I need you to do my hair," the taps become a little harder, "Eggsyyyyyy, Eggsy!" Daisy squeals as Eggsy reaches out a long arm, smushes her into his chest and lets out a huge, pantomime snore.  
  


"Leggo Eggsy," Daisy giggles, "I need to find my green bow. I told Mister Hart I'm gunna wear it today. He likes green too." She wriggles about until Eggsy loosens his grip, and slides off the bed with a thump. She stands by the door, little hands reaching for the doorknob she can just about reach if she tiptoes.  "C'mon Eggsy, or I'll let JB in," Daisy plays her trump card like the evil mini-Roxy she's turning out to be.  
  


"Traitor!" Eggsy wails,"thy name is Daisy," he pulls himself upright and grins at his sister, "I'm up little flower, but no hair till after breakfast kay?" (they do not speak of the cereal-bobby-pin incident in the Unwin house).  Daisy beams back - they share the same dimples, Eggsy notes with pride - and opens the door triumphantly.

  
"I'm going to brush my teeth," she informs him, "that's enough time for you to make toast," and then she scampers off, door banging in her wake, probably to rush through washing up and get water all over the bathroom floor. Eggsy sighs, but can't stop the stupidly content blossoming of domestic warmth that soaks right  into his heart. JB must have head Daisy say his name - he's scraping at the door with urgency that means he needs to pee. Eggsy sighs again, heaves himself off the bed and lets JB lick him good morning. He goes to inspect Daisy's teeth and makes her do it again, this time with toothpaste, before helping her pick out a dress for the day.  
  


The toaster dings a cheerful good morning as it delivers his toast, a little charred at the bottom but not quite toasted enough at the top. Garlic butter on one slice (Eggsy's), grape jam (Daisy's) on the other. Coffee for Eggsy - his moka pot shrieking at him from the stovetop - and orange juice for Daisy. It's not perfect - Daisy gets jam down the front of her dress and its her fourth favorite (out of eight), Eggsy overheats his milk and irreparably scorches his only saucepan. They eat over the counter top in a kitchen just large enough for two people plus a microwave. So really, really not perfect, but it's familiar and domestic - they're a family, and Eggsy can't remember being happier. Perhaps, he sometimes thinks, it would be great if their mum could be there to share in family, perhaps if Eggsy had someone to raise Daisy with, perhaps - But he’s made his choices, just like his mom made hers. Eggsy sternly reminds himself that wallowing in could-have-beens is no way to start the day.

  
"Eggsy!" he's pulled from saucepan scrubbing by Daisy waving a teeny tiny green ribbon in his face, "I want a French braid," she says like they both don't know she's going to end up with the usual just-neat-enough pigtails that she secretly likes more than the fancy YouTube tutorial ones anyway.  
  


He manages a half decent braid, struggling to loop the little green ribbon, but getting there in the end. He lifts Daisy off the countertop and hold her up in front of the mirror, "you look beautiful today little flower," he tells her seriously and prays beyond hope that she doesn't forget it. It’s easy to, after all.  Daisy twists to give him a hug, "and you're the handsomest brother ever," she says, "now put me down, I want to go to school."  
  


Eggsy would never admit it to anyone, but he’s almost a little sad that Daisy took so well to school. She’d walked into her first day the year before with barely a backward glace at Eggsy (who wasn’t faring quite so well) and hadn’t stopped loving school since. She’s found a place with friends - kind, innocent friends - in a good, healthy environment, and Eggsy couldn’t be happier. It’s just that a part of him never wants to let her go. He wants to keep her firmly next to him, where she’s safest, where Dean can’t ever find her. But Daisy is Daisy, and Daisy - who is even more stubborn than Eggsy is - wants to fly, and Eggsy knows that he has to help her take off.  
  


She still holds his hand tight as they take the bus to school. It’s a long way from the council estate they live in to the better part of town, but Daisy sits contentedly, drawing pictures with her finger on Eggsy’s palm and chattering about her best friend Mia, about her new teacher and about how she’s the only one in class brave enough to get on the swings by herself. He could get used to this, Eggsy thinks, this exactly version of perfect. Which obviously means that roughtly seven hours later, life manages to dangle a whole new level of perfection right in front of his nose, just to shake things up.

  
-

  
He had not signed up for this - not for posh schools for talented kids, not for little fiddly pinafores with fiddly buttons, not for other parents looking down their noses at his sneakers, and certainly not for tall, suited and desperately handsome teachers with kind, warm eyes. It is, he tells Roxy over drinks later, completely unfair.

  
Mr Hart is Daisy's new teacher. He's also her favorite person ever, and now, within two minutes of meeting him, Eggsy can see exactly why. Mr Hart is probably the least condescending posh person in the school (possibly in London), and certainly that Eggsy has ever met. He doesn't even blink at Eggsy's accent - quite unlike Mr King, who winces visibly every time Eggsy opens his mouth - or roll his eyes at the bright yellow of his jacket (which is, admittedly, almost too garish, even for Eggsy). Mr Hart is actually just as amazing as Daisy declared after the first day of school, and it is not exaggerating to say that Eggsy is completely and utterly smitten.

  
"Daisy speaks exceptionally well for a child her age," Mr Hart's eyes are fond when he speaks, even if he's only had two class with her so far, "you should be very proud of your daughter Mr Unwin."  
  


"Gary," Eggsy manages, "M'name is Gary," he's about to say that he isn't Daisy's father when there's a little incident involving two small children, a cut finger and a whole puddle of tears, and Mr Hart is drawn away with an apologetic nod.

  
"Eggsy," Daisy comes up to him with her bag, "you didn't tie my braid tight enough,” she waves her ribbon at him without much heat, “it came off when Mia and I jumped down the slide.” Absently apologising and scooping Daisy up, Eggsy watches as Mr Hart carefully puts a band-aid on a little finger, speaking gently but firmly. He feels his heart tremble, because this man is pushing every single one of his buttons.

  
But realistically, of course, Eggsy is Eggsy. No matter how hard many hours he does at the mechanic's or how many years he'd served in the marines, Eggsy is a street rat and proud. People like Eggsy (although maybe not Daisy) aren't likely to be success stories for social mobility.  And while he doesn't like to judge, chances are that Mr Hart already has a wife, three grown kids and a functioning life that doesn't need Eggsy in it. Eggsy is not ashamed of his background, finds nothing to hide about his accent or his neighborhood, but he knows that some crushes are just meant to stay crushes.  
  


Or so he tells himself - and Roxy when she presses - until his crush deepens sharply into another monster entirely.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Daisy rounds off her third school day with a nightmare that pushes her awake just after midnight. She sobs silently out of sheer habit, but screams for Eggsy at the same time. She grabs onto his shirt and buries her face in it, trembling as he strokes her hair, whispering quiet words of reassurance - _it's okay, he's not here, I'll always protect you_. But knowing something is the truth, however, does not always make it feel true. Daisy clenches her fists tighter as her tears slowly dry up.   
  
  
"Did you have a bad dream too?" she asks.  
  


"Not tonight love," Eggsy says honestly, "but last week, yes." He carefully loosens her fingers and manoeuvres her under the blankets again.   
  
  
Knowing that Eggsy still dreamt of Dean had helped Daisy during the first couple months after they'd moved into the new place. Their mum had tried to keep Daisy away from the brunt of Dean’s rage - and Dean had never made a move to hurt Daisy (not yet) - but in a flat as small as theirs, there was no running away from the shouting. The sound of skin against skin, fist against flesh, is one they both remember well. By her third birthday, Daisy had seen Dean place his hands around Michelle’s neck and _squeeze_ , she’d seen Eggsy fly at Dean, blazing with rage, she’d seen Eggsy hurled across the room, and she remembers it all. Even after two years together, away from that particular flat and away from both parents, Daisy still sees Dean in her sleep and, well, Eggsy gets that. He brushes sweaty clumps hair out of her eyes (she’ll need another shower in the morning), and presses a kiss to her brow.  
  


"I had to talk to the class about my daddy today," Daisy says as he draws away - softly, as though she's afraid that Dean can hear her from his cell (where, Eggsy hopes, he's freezing his balls off and getting the shit kicked out of him for a change).  
  
  
"What did you say?" Eggsy works to keep his voice neutral to mask his building anxiety.   
  


"That," Daisy reaches for Eggsy again,"that he's far away, and that - that I don't like to play with him -" she bursts into tears again as Eggsy tries to understand which part she's upset about.   
  
  
He’d forgotten to send a note to her teacher explaining the father-in-prison and mother-in-rehab situation. Roxy was amazing the year before. In Daisy’s year one class, she’d been wonderful at tactfully redirecting any awkwardness away from Daisy’s family, never mentioning it unless Daisy offered information herself. Outside school, after they’d become friends, she never pushed too much about their situation, just accepted it and worked her way gently into Daisy’s comfort zone. Roxy will never admit it, but Eggsy knows she has a soft spot the size of the moon for them both. It's rare, especially for someone who comes from as much money as she clearly does. She’s a real mate, Roxy, a  _friend_ \- one of the first ones Eggsy has had outside of the estates and one he intends to keep as long as she’ll have him.

  
"That's all true, love, you don't have to tell them anything you don't want to, yeah?" Now, Eggsy’ll have to find a chance to grab Mr Hart and explain things as soon as possible.   
  


"No," Daisy rubs at her face fiercely, "but it's not, I don't have a daddy. There's only Dean and I hate him and I - I just want you, but you aren't my daddy," she pauses for breath and says softly, "no one else doesn't have a daddy."   
  


Eggsy's heart wrenches in his chest, aches for his little flower's first introduction to the harsh truths of society, aches that she's hurting over things that she'd no control of in the first place. It’s not fair, he thinks to himself, it’s so unfair he wants to scream, wants to tear Dean to pieces for shredding their childhoods into threads of nightmares and fading scars.  
  


“Has anyone said there’s anything wrong with having no daddy?” he says instead.  
  


Daisy sniffles and shakes her head, “but - but,” she stops, face starting to crumple again because she can’t put words to what she’s feeling.    
  


“Oh baby,” Eggsy holds her close, “it’s okay love, it’s okay to be sad, yeah? Everyone has a different family - we two are just a bit more different than most.”  
  


“I don’t want to be different,” Daisy says, “I want to be like everyone else, I want-” the tears start afresh; hot, frustrated tears that make Eggsy want to cry too. 

  
“We can’t change how things are darling,” Eggsy tilts her chin up so he can look into her eyes, “and we can’t let it hurt us. If we do, then _he_ wins. We’re happy now, right baby? He can’t take that away.”

  
“But I wanna be happy and just like everyone else,” Daisy whispers.  
  


“Me too, love, me too,” Eggsy whispers back, thinking of warm eyes, safe, gentle hands, and dinner at a proper dining table set for four. They stay like that the whole night, Daisy slowly falling asleep in Eggsy’s arms, and Eggsy crammed uncomfortably in her tiny cot, both of them without the answers they need, but secure in each other’s presence. It’s a long road to normal, but they’re getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update - I really wanted to get something up, but I’m still waffling about the general plot direction, hence this little snippet of sibling interaction.


	3. Chapter 3

The thing is, Eggsy, for all his outward confidence and lifted chin, doesn’t do well with awkward. Lurking by the door to Mr. Hart’s office, Eggsy finds that awkward conversation with the man he is painfully attracted to, who is also his sister’s teacher, is probably the most soul-crushingly awkwardthing he has ever had to do. 

 

He’d picked Daisy up as usual after class, making appropriately impressed noises at the day’s obnoxiously glittery craft (he can only hope the glitter will have mostly fallen off by the time they reach home) before leaving her with Roxy and going over to where Mr. Hart was carefully putting bottles of glitter neatly back into a plastic container. This, of course after lingering amongst a bunch of tiny kids for a good ten minutes. 

 

“Mr Hart,” he’d begun and Mr Hart had turned full on to face Eggsy, glitter stuck to his chin.  “Just Harry is fine,” he said, with a smile charming enough that Eggsy nearly forgets why exactly he needs to speak with him in the first place. He can feel himself growing a little warm under the collar of his jacket. “Harry,” Eggsy tried again, “if you have the time, I’d like to maybe explain a couple things about Daisy that you should know. For, uh, future reference.”

  

Mr Hart had tipped his head down at Eggsy and said, “certainly,” and then, “I’ll just finish cleaning up here and meet you at my office.” He’d given Eggsy directions down a long, long hallway to a frosted glass door with a heavy, gold-plated sign with his name engraved in elegant cursive. Which, _really_ , Eggsy didn’t go to the best kindergarten around, but even he knows that individual offices with expensive name plates is ridiculously over the top for a person who teaches five year old kids, no matter how perfect Eggsy happens to think he is. He doesn’t even want to kno whow ornate Mr. King’s office is, if Harry’s - _Mr Hart_ , he reminds himself sternly - office is this fucking posh. 

 

He’s stirred from his mental images of Chester King reclining on a purple couch next to the heads of various stuffed, dead animals by the sound of Mr Hart’s polished oxfords clicking on the marble floor and coming to a stop next to Eggsy’s favourite pair of obnoxiously winged sneakers - a gift from Roxy (and Daisy) last Christmas. He does not think about how the shoes would look together, on a shoe rack in a hallway of a cozy house.

 

“After you,” Mr Hart says pulling the door open and waving Eggsy into his (again, ridiculously over-sized office). “It is terribly opulent, isn’t it,” Mr Hart says almost sheepishly when Eggsy fails to hide how his jaw actually physically drops at how large the office is. “I’m afraid Kingsman has a long tradition of spending a great deal of money on appearances.” 

 

“It’s nice,” Eggsy says lamely, because it actually is, even the large bronze mirror that’s propped up against a wall, and the plush navy rug that covers most of the floor. “I suppose that’s what its like to be rolling in it, eh?” is what also comes out, because clearly the chip on his shoulder is still present, even if its decreased in size considerably over the years. 

  

Mr Hart doesn’t seem overly offended though, because he cracks a little grin that turns the corners of his mouth up elegantly and spreads up into the creases of his eyes. “You wanted to talk about Daisy?” he asks, motioning for Eggsy to sit across him at his desk. 

 

“Yeah,” Eggsy clearly his throat and tries not to get lost in the warmth of Mr Hart’s unreasonably earnest attentiveness. “I, uh, Daisy. She told me about how they had to talk about family a couple days ago.”

  

“Of course,” Mr Hart says, “I gathered something was a little off when she needed some time to think of an answer. He roots around some papers on his desk and pulls out some notes. “She said her parents were gone and she had you instead. She spoke of you with a good deal of affection.”

  

“Yeah, well, her birth dad was a piece of shit,” Eggsy says bluntly, “and her mom isn’t able to care for her anymore. So I’m the only surrogate available.” He realises that his fists are bunched tightly into the material of his jeans and makes himself breathe out and relax his grip. It still hurts admitting that aloud, he finds. The thought of his mom alone in rehab, with a daughter who still holds herself stiff when they see each other and a son who cannot bring himself to visit more often,brings a whole bunch of emotions - guilt, regret, anger and mostly sadness. 

 

“I’m her only family left,” he says finally, “and she’s still trying to deal with how she understands herself and her family,” he hesitates before admitting, “she still has nightmares a couple times a week, but we’re getting better at adjusting.” 

 

There are a whole bunch of questions that Mr Hart looks like he wants to ask, but all he does is nod and write a few notes down. “I understand Gary,” he says, “I was going to ask you about it too. But I wouldn’t be too worried, Daisy is a clever girl. And strong, as you both must be. It’s not easy being a father at your age.” 

 

“I-” Eggsy starts to correct Mr Hart but is interrupted by two sharp knocks on the door. 

 

“Come in,” Mr Hart says, nodding apologetically at Eggsy, gesturing for him to remain seated. 

 

“Harry,” says a voice Eggsy recognises as Merlin’s smooth, slightly accented brogue. And then, “Mr Unwin,” somehow managing to convey a raised eyebrow without actually raising an eyebrow. Not that he means it in any negative way, Eggsy’s sure. Merlin is the good sort - genuine in a gruff, brisk way, but scarily efficient when dealing everyone and everything. Technically, he is Mr King’s PA. He sits outside Mr King’s office with a huge desk of his own which holds at least three huge monitors that Eggsy’s pretty sure he never really uses over the huge tablet he carries around on a clipboard. 

  

Although really, if word is to be believed, it’s Merlin who actually runs Kingsman, monitoring the comings and goings, assigning teachers to classes and approving charity cases like Eggsy and Daisy. Mr King - intimidating principal and certifiably the most infuriatingly snobbish aristocrat-type ever - only comes in on meet-the-parents day and on the first couple days of class. Although unfortunately, thats enough for him to have spent the three minutes they’ve met judging Eggsy from head to toe with open disdain. But still, it’s just a posh wanker thinking Eggsy’s a rat from the estates - Eggsy would put up with much worse for Daisy.

  

But Merlin, Merlin has always been kind to Eggsy, accommodating the numerous emails he’d sent before Daisy started school asking about packed lunches and dress codes and shoe options and offering advice helpfully disguised as official memos to help Eggsy get Daisy kingsman-ready. 

 

“Just chatting ‘bout Daisy bruv,” Eggsy says, because he knows Merlin will roll his eyes at the played-up drawl.

 

Mr Hart also rolls his eyes, “I’ll just be a minute,” He looks meaningfully at Merlin (although _what_ exactly his meaning is, Eggsy has no clue) and makes a point of ignoring Merlin’s pointed look in return (again, no clue). Merlin quirks a brow at Eggsy has he leaves, “Send my regards to Daisy,” he says, shutting the door behind him. 

 

“So,” Mr Hart says, “I think, Gary, that we need to work together to give Daisy the support she needs to develop. On my part, I’ll try to limit the family talk to just talking about people in their lives who are important to them. Perhaps I shall try to include something about guardianship and divorce,” he says. Which ordinarily should be a little questionable for five year-olds, but having seen Kingsman’s curriculum, Eggsy’s pretty sure this is pretty standard for nurturing the freakishly precocious young minds Kingsman is famous for. 

  

“She’s pretty cool about the parent thing now,” Eggsy feels the need to say, before Mr Hart has to make any unnecessary changes to his lesson plans, “we had a chat about being different and shi- stuff, and how it doesn’t matter that much. But I thought I should warn you about a couple triggers. Miss Morton took her last year and she knows a little more about our situation. I forgot to let you know in advance about discussing drugsor violence. We’re still working on her reactions to that.” 

 

Mr Hart’s expression is mostly unreadable, and Eggsy is glad for the lack of either pity or judgement. He adds, “and I don’t think this will come up, but avoid calling her _girl._ It triggers some bad memories.” 

 

“Of course,” Mr Hart says, “I appreciate the heads up, Gary, thank you,” he pauses for a second - almost like he’s hesitating, “I think we’ll get on just fine. I want to see Daisy flourish like I know she can. Between us, I think she’ll be a natural kingsman talent,” is what he ends up saying, topping things off with the smile he uses when talking to his class - the smile thats the most genuine one Eggsy’s ever seen. He uses the time Mr Hart spends jotting a few more notes down to study him a little more. He looks in his element, surrounded by neat stacks of notepaper and cute little boxes of craft supplies and attendance sheets. Its so charming Eggsy wants to leap over the desk press kisses all over the little creases in his forehead as he writes.

 

And yes, Eggsy thinks as Mr Hart ushers him out of the office - holding the door open for him and pointing him towards the playground - Mr Hart is intoxicating and incredibly attractive, but even hotter is how much he seems to care for Daisy, how _good_ he seem to be. And Eggsy knows appearances can be deceiving, knows that nice words often mean the least of all, but his heart skips a beat when Mr Hart shakes his hand, and his traitorous and slightly infatuated brain cheerfully informs him that Harry Hart has already found his way inside. 

  

-

 

Roxy is far less sympathetic than Eggsy feels a best mate should be. They buy burgers and cheesy fries home as a treat for Daisy and get some gossip time in while Daisy - having consumed a freakish amount of fries for someone so small - naps. Roxy tells Eggsy about catching Merlin watching videos of hamsters during lunch, and Eggsy updates her on the latest catfight that went down at the bar during his shift, and about his chat with Harry. 

  

“Ask him out,” is what Roxy has to say about the whole thing. And then, “I told you he’d be good about it. He’s a great teacher Eggsy.” 

 

“I know,” Eggsy says, “which is why I shouldn’t break good things. Look what happened with Charlie.”

 

“I’ve told you,” Roxy says dismissively, “Charlie and I were on the rocks anyway. It says a lot that you didn’t even know we were going out.”  

 

“How ‘bout Rotti then,” Eggsy says petulantly, “went and ruined a perfectly good friendship, didn’t I? And Jamal. And the cute barista down the street. He won’t even make drinks for me anymore. ”

 

“Rotti was an arsehole, Eggsy, and you know it,” Roxy says, “that’s how relationships go. We love and we lose and if we’re lucky we find someone that’s meant for forever.”

 

“Maybe I just ain't the lucky sort,” they’ve had this conversation before, because Eggsy’s dismal attempts at dating have, to date, ended with varying degrees of hurt and disappointment. 

 

“We make our own luck,” Roxy says firmly, just like she’s said the last few times. And Eggsy - well, Eggsy isn’t quite convinced of that yet. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the lovely comments! I'm really still not 100% on where exactly this is going (a little part of me is screaming for a merlin/harry/eggsy endgame)

**Author's Note:**

> really, I can't apologise enough for the run-on sentences.


End file.
